


Saving Me from Myself

by SSWolfe



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Suicide Attempts, Original Female Character - Freeform, Papa Emeritus III - Freeform, ghost - Freeform, ghost bc - Freeform, mentions of cutting, potential trigger, the band ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9407345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSWolfe/pseuds/SSWolfe
Summary: Sarah is suffering from the daily life she is forced to endure. Papa appears in her bedroom, and she convinces herself she is crazy. Ever observant, Papa protects her from her biggest enemy: herself.





	

Sara sat alone in her room, knees curled loosely under the pillows. She had come to one conclusion. Life sucked, and it was a vacuum cleaner that stayed on for the rest of eternity, taking away everything and anything that had meaning. Love, hope, success.

She had almost lost her job today, and now she was on a one week suspension for something that she had not perpetrated. Pornography! On her computer!

She growled deeply, almost menacingly, but the sound was just that. Inside, she was scared. She was trying to figure out which coworker she could have angered enough to do something like that to her. She was a good person, she abided by the rules… was it because she was too good? Maybe too innocent?

And, to top it off, her cat had ran away two days ago and had yet to be found in the city… She was almost waiting for the third shoe to drop just so the series of events could end and she could fix everything. Or, let the third event be the thing that took her. That would be a welcomed reprieve.

She had YouTube open on her television, a song she had searched for about an hour ago leading into a continuous playlist. Ghost… Ghost was her favorite band, and just watching the Ghouls and their wonderful, happy attitudes, coupled with whichever Papa was the leader

perform was one of her simple pleasures in life.

She lifted a bottle of whiskey to her lips and pulled from it, no longer cringing from the burn. She was by far used to it this evening. And her drunkenness was starting to increase as her vision became blurred. She hadn't gotten drunk in a long time, and Sara was surprised that she was able to drink as much as she had before feeling it.

She looked to her television screen and saw the lyrics flashing over it for _Cirice_. It was almost a cliché for the song to pop up, and she almost wanted to laugh. Oh, where was Papa when she needed him. It wasn't as if he was actually supernatural, however. He was a man in a costume, performing to make money just as all other bands did. Even the Ghouls were just men… How depressing. But that was adulthood. Things one craved and wanted were generally not theirs to begin with.

Can you hear the rumble…

Sara mouthed the words to the song, proving that no matter how inebriated one could become, music was a language easier remembered that his mother tongue.

A single tear streamed down her face as her mind left the song and returned to her job issue. If she lost her job, she would lose everything. She would lose her home, her car… She would have nothing left to hold her to a ground she barely had a grip on to begin with.

_I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart…_

It wasn't thunder anymore, Papa… it was a full-blown storm; a shelf cloud that was threatening to break her apart. So much had happened in the last month and a half. And now, the two most important things in her life were at stake over some stupid joke or ploy that she had made a very good argument for in her favor.

"Maybe God should just fucking take me now… I'm wasting space here anyways." Her voice was a little shaky, another tear rolling in place of the other. She reached up to take another drink when something stopped her.

Sara looked at the glass bottle, and there was a black glove on it.

_"No more…"_

She flew back, releasing the bottle without regard for her sheets. Her drunken state did nothing to impair her movements, as she was suddenly painfully sober. She managed to get to the corner of her bedroom where she kept a Louisville Slugger and stood there, chest heaving and one hand gripping the bat.

"Who the fuck-" She stopped. Her eyes fell to the being that held the bottle of whiskey. He was clothed in robes that glistened from the television screen, a tall mitre atop his head. No way.

"Sara," came the accented voice. Her heart stopped and she froze completely.

Now this was a joke that her sick mind was playing with her. It was Papa Emeritus III, standing right beside her bed. Maybe she really did have her mother's schizophrenic gene hanging around.

"Right. Of course, I would conjure you up. As if I needed to be teased any further…" She put down the bat. A bat would do nothing to help her mind screwing with her. She walked up to the man and stared at him. "You aren't real. God fucking damn it, of all people…" She shook her head and let out a wet laugh, the tears falling freely now.

"It may seem that way…" he began.

"Oh, no. My mother was schizophrenic. This has been a long time coming, but…" She slapped her cheek a couple times in order to wake up a bit. The alcohol's effects were starting to come back to her little by little. Apparently too quickly.

"Why you, Papa? Why would I do this? I don't want even a figure of my imagination to see me like this. Like, what the fuck! It could have been anyone! Crocodile Hunter, may he rest in peace. Or DJ Ashba, or even Frank _God-damned_ Sinatra! But I summon the one thing I need the most. Why can't God just fucking kill me alr-"

Papa had heard enough. He took off both of his gloves and dropped them onto her duvet, and then removed his mitre and set it on them. He slicked his hair back one time, and then reached out a hand and cupped her cheek, feeling the wetness of her tears. A frustrated growl rumbled in his chest. Was it so impossible to believe that he was indeed real?

Sara stopped ranting immediately and looked into those mismatched eyes. The heat of his hand, and the weight of it. He slid his thumb under her eye and caught a tear that had spilled over, letting it roll down his hand.

"Sara, _min kära flicka_. I am not of your imagination. In fact, it is your thoughts that have prompted my visit." His face was kind, but his eyes were stormy with concern. "And it seems that you were thinking of us as well."

She was at a loss. He… was here..? He was real? There was no flipping way.

So, gracefully, she said the first thing that came to mind…

"… can I please have my whiskey back..?"

Papa looked at her with a blank expression for half a second before his laughter filled the room. It was a sound that sent a shiver down her body, and she flinched back."My child, I think you have had quite enough drink for one evening." He sounded too real. She knew for sure that she was insane now. There was no questioning it. And if symptoms started out this vividly, it was only a matter of time…

She was silent for a moment before a dark resolve entered her mind. _Kill yourself before this gets any worse._ A map in her mind showed her exactly where her old rusted buck knife was, in the bottom drawer of her bathroom sink.

"Pardon me, sir," she began, her voice one of defeat, "I need to use the restroom…"

As if he had heard the dark thought, he grabbed her by the back of her shirt as she turned and enveloped her into his arms.

"Do not even consider the idea, Sara. Chase that thought from you mind, now." His tone was one to not challenge, and after a brief moment of fear, a sense of sorrow came over her like a wave. She bent her head in defeat, and the tears that had stopped sprung anew. Everything came flooding back to her, and she had the strangest feeling of being safe with him. His robes were blissfully soft, and heated with his own temperature which seemed almost higher than normal.

"Why, Papa… why are you here?" she sobbed, her small fingers digging into his back and clinging to him. This man was her lifeline. If he disappeared now, she would as well.

"It does not matter why I am here, because I am here now. Come, sweetheart. Lay with me; let me bear your burdens for a while." She was so small in this moment, a fragile child of his congregation lost without hope. This was where he came in, and like his namesake, he was the ever-watchful father, guiding his children. He motioned her to the bed after he moved his mitre and gloves to her end table and ushered her under the covers. He joined her after she hesitated briefly, his thick robes a slight challenge. But soon, he was beside her. She did not immediately go to him, which was disconcerting. She was hurting; he could feel it in his blackened heart.

"I just don't understand, Papa… The whole band thing… I mean, isn't it just that? Aren't you all human?" she asked, facing the wall and curled into herself.

"No, dear one, we are not. We reign elsewhere. I feel the pain of my children regularly, but you have had me worried for quite a while, and we decided it was time I intervene before the chaos that is your world took too much. Now, come to me." He lifted his arm enough, and she slowly turned to look at him. So fragile…

Sara moved toward him, and his strong arms pulled her closely to him. The side of his robe covered her in its silky embrace. His scent was otherworldly, and her tears had begun to stop now. She snuggled her head into his chest, and he rested his chin atop it, closing his eyes. His heart beat truly was strong and steady. _Dues in Absentia_ played in the background, casting a glow on the pair.

Sara intertwined her legs with his and found such a comfortable position that she nearly instantly was drowsy, feeling a sense of serenity she had not felt in what seemed like ages...

"Thank you for saving me from myself, Papa…" she whispered into him.

His bare hand stroked patterns on her back lightly. "I will always be with you, even if I cannot be physically. But promise me something…" He slid his hand under her thin shirt slowly. He found a rough, abnormal patch of flesh below her breast and she flinched away in shame, trying to shake his touch. Sarah wanted nobody to know about her weaknesses. However, he took dominant charge for a moment and gripped onto her ribs, covering the wounds completely and pressing down to make his words for effective.

"This here, Sara? It's done. Promise me that the next time you want to do this, or worse, you will call out to me. If I cannot be there, one of the others will be. Understand?" He was being abundantly clear.

"Y-yes, Papa…" she whispered, closing her eyes.

"That's my good girl. Now, sleep. I will be here when you wake." He removed his hand slowly, trying to keep the damaged flesh in tact before he resumed his caresses. He could feel her body slowly shutting down. Less than five minutes had lapsed, and she was contently asleep. Papa felt a tinge of pride, despite the severity of the situation. This girl… she was fighting a battle. And now, she was no longer alone.


End file.
